


Ultimately? We're Not All Alone

by whtbout2ndbrkfst



Series: Alec and Anthony J (A Broadchurch / Good Omens Crossover) [3]
Category: Broadchurch, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alec is doing his best, Alternate Universe - Human, Daisy is a saint, Ellie is a saint, Family, Family Bonding, Fluff, Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, Queer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whtbout2ndbrkfst/pseuds/whtbout2ndbrkfst
Summary: Family dinner at Ellie's house. Basically an excuse to get the four of them back together for some bonding, conversations about tattoos, and a surprising revelation about religion. Oh, and this time Daisy's there.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Alec and Anthony J (A Broadchurch / Good Omens Crossover) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560010
Comments: 21
Kudos: 103





	1. Clothing Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Technically set between the other two stories in this series, but not at all important to the over-arching plot. I suppose you could read this without the others as long as you know Crowley and Alec are twins who were separated as teens and just re-met.

They’ve spoken on the phone a number of times since that fateful day in the fall, but with everyone’s busy schedules it’s been impossible to get together. Aziraphale is the only one among them with regular hours and between the design business and detective work, it’s been 9 weeks of quick calls and the occasional video chat. (Daisy refuses to have an actual phone call, but has walked each of them through installing Skype, Facebook messenger, and Facetime and actually checks in with Aziraphale and Crowley more often than her dad does.)

November is fading into December and Crowley and Aziraphale have managed to schedule a free weekend in which they’re able to make the three and a half hour trek to Broadchurch. Alec and Ellie aren’t in the middle of a case at the moment and have their fingers crossed that they can make it through til Monday without being needed at the office. Even Daisy has caught the train down for a long weekend.

It’s early Friday afternoon, the bags have been packed and stored in the boot of the Bentley since this morning, Crowley’s been home from work for an hour, and Aziraphale is puttering around the kitchen waiting for his husband to come downstairs so they can go. Crowley knows it’s time for them to leave, that it _has_ been time for them to leave for a little while now, but he’s currently in the middle of having a small crisis. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls up the stairs, “We’re going to be late.”

Crowley sighs. He knows they’re going to be late, he’s actually very aware of the fact, but he’s currently surrounded by a pile of clothes and panicking. “Just a minute!” he yells, and shifts through a number of outfits he’s already pulled out. He comes to the same conclusion he came to the last seven times: He doesn’t want to wear any of them. He flings a suit jacket off the bed in disgust.

Another ten minutes or so passes before Crowley hears Aziraphale making his way up the stairs to find out what’s taking him so long. He’s sitting on the bed, cross-legged, and still wearing the robe he threw on after taking a shower. He looks around their bedroom at the godawful mess he’s made over the last 20 minutes and cringes, but doesn’t bother to try and pick up the offending pieces of clothing before his husband crosses the threshold to to their room.

Which is why Aziraphale finds him sitting on the bed with his knees up and his head in his hands surrounded by the start of no less than six different ensembles. There’s clothes on their bed, draped over the mirror, and of course, all over their floor. He raises an eye at the suit jacket crumpled into a ball, but steps around it to take a seat next to his husband without commenting on the disaster their bedroom has turned into since he left . “What’s wrong Crowley?,” he asks, curious, but not yet overly concerned.

“Idnwanwearnythis,” Crowley mumbles incoherently into his knees.  
Aziraphale wraps an arm around him from the side, nudges his hands away from his face, “You know i can’t hear you when you do that.”

“I said I don’t want to wear any of this!” Crowley exclaims flinging his arms out to indicate the pile of dress shirts and slacks adorning their bed and floor.

Oh. Aziraphale takes a moment to look around and consider the problem. He thinks he knows what this is stemming from, but doesn’t want to put words in Crowley’s mouth. “I see … and is there something else you _would_ like to wear?”

Crowley glares at him.

“I see.”

“You don’t see! I can’t just show up dressed like - ugh!” His face is buried in his hands again.

“No, no, I do see, and yes you can.”

Crowley stares at him like he’s stupid and Aziraphale returns the look, refusing to give in to the theatrics on this. “Crowley they don’t care what you wear to dinner.” Crowley sniffles. “Honestly, if you want to wear a dress or a skirt, then put one on, they’re not going to say anything negative.”

“You don’t know that,” Crowley pouts.

Aziraphale very much wants to assert that he _does_ know that, knows Alec and Ellie and the kids well enough by now but knows that repeating the same assurances aren’t bound to get them anywhere.

“I do know that,” he says anyway, “and so do you,” and then quickly, before Crowley has a chance to protest, he adds “ and even if I didn’t, I’d still tell you to wear whatever you want to wear. If they can’t accept you for who you are, then they’re not worth having around.”

“But he’s my brother!”

“Exactly.”

Crowley sputters, “but - “

“Crowley, there is no ‘but’. He’s your brother and he loves you and he’s tripping over his feet to be accomodating and get to know you. He’s been nothing but accepting of you, of us, of any boundaries you’ve set. Whenever you talk, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle he’ll gladly spend the rest of his life solving. It would be awkward if it wasn’t so endearing.” When Crowley doesn’t respond he coerces, “Come on, pick out something to wear and put it on.”  
Conversation over, Aziraphale gets up from the bed and walks to the closet, sorting through it for what he’s looking for. He picks out the ugliest dress he can find, something from a costume party years ago, “how about this?” he says holding it up for his husbands inspection.

“No!” Crowley is horrified by the offer and jumps up. When Aziraphale laughs and sticks it back in the closet he catches on, “You did that on purpose”. 

Aziraphale just shrugs.

“No, you did,” Crowley insists. But now that he’s standing, he sorting through clothes on his own and it doesn’t take him long to pull out a simple dark purple blouse and black knee-length skirt. He holds them up for Aziraphale’s inspection.

“Beautiful dear,” he assures him, “Now can you please put them on?”

Outfit successfully picked, Crowley still needs another 20 minutes to get ready. “I’m not wearing this top without eyeliner Aziraphale, don’t be ridiculous.,” he says while picking a hairpin to add to the braid he's planning to throw his hair up in.

“Ah yes, I’m the one who’s being ridiculous this evening, he says shaking his head and typing out a text to Ellie to let her know they’re running behind schedule. Without looking up, he adds, "Do you need help braiding your hair?"

Finally seated in the car, Crowley fidgets in his seat.

“You look great,” Aziraphale assures him.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Crowley hisses, but he starts up the car and backs it out of his space. 

Aziraphale knows this, and if he knows anything about his husband it’s that a reasonable conversation about this isn’t going to allay any of his fears, irrational or not. So, he turns the station to something classical and waits for Crowley to shoot him a glare. “What?” he asks innocently.

“We’re not listening to Mozart, angel! The man’s been dead for 300 years!”

“This isn’t Mozart. It’s Wagner. And he’s only been dead for 200 years.” 

Crowley rolls his eyes, “Same thing.” He reaches over to change the station, but Aziraphale slaps his hand away, “one song and then you can change it back.”

Crowley gives an exaggerated sigh; they both know he won’t actually change the station when the song’s over.

Successfully having gotten his husband’s mind off the invented ‘clothing crisis’, Aziraphale gives him a blinding smile and launches into a well-rehearsed defense of classical music and the distinct superiority of some composers over others if you would just be bothered to _listen_.

\-------------

They’re a few miles outside of Broadchurch (no longer listening to classical; Aziraphale lost that battle when they pulled over for gas and Aziraphale stepped inside for a coffee) when Aziraphale’s phone makes a noise he doesn’t remember it ever making. He pulls it out and looks at it in confusion, “What -” he starts, holding it up so Crowley can see it.

Crowley looks over and shakes his head, “it’s Facetime, angel, a video call.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale says excitedly, and makes to answer, but fumbles it and disconnects it instead. “Oh,” he says again, disappointed, but a few seconds later it goes off again. “Slide the green arrow right,” Crowley instructs and a moment later Daisy’s voice rings out in the car.

“Hey Aziraphale! How’s the ride? Dad and Ellie are too polite to ask, but we’re wondering what your ETA is.”

Aziraphale hasn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings and could only estimate how much longer it’ll take them to get there, so he points the phone towards Crowley allowing him to answer.

Before Crowley can answer however, there’s a gasp from the other end of the phone, “Oh hey! Crowley, are you wearing _eyeliner_?!??”

Aziraphale winces in the passenger seat, but Crowley has less than a second to panic, form a defense, before Daisy rushes on excitedly, “It’s so good! Chloe and I have been trying to figure out how to wing it properly for _weeks_ and yours is _perfection_! You have to show me your secrets!”

Crowley’s emotions are still catching up, stumbling from fear to embarrassment to shock and settling somewhere around pleased, and he struggles to form a response. “I… you … what?,” he squeaks out, cheeks heating up.

Daisy ignores his embarrassment and plows on excitedly, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a makeup professional! Do you know how many hours I’ve wasted watching Youtube tutorials?? And all this time, I could have just asked you?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Crowley finally manages, biting his thumbnail nervously and looking at Aziraphale for an assist, but his husband just shakes his head and mouths “told you”. Crowley glares back which only makes Aziraphale cluck and point his attention back to the road. 

Crowley clears his throat, “Anyway, we’ll be there in 7 or 8 minutes,” and reaches over to end the call before anyone can say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wagner: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b80Jw8MuZxo 
> 
> This story was supposed to be pure utter fluff and laughter and I am trying so so hard to write fluff and just let them LIVE, but apparently that's not a skill set I have.


	2. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, I'm so sorry for abandoning this fic. I moved, and apparently that takes a lot of time and mental energy. But I'm settled now, so I'm back and excited to continue to share this fic with you. Thank you so so much to everyone who's been following since part 1, everyone who's left a comment or kudos, and who's coming back to read this chapter after an incredibly long hiatus. Love you all!

When they knock on the door precisely 7 minutes later, Crowley is standing behind Aziraphale, though if he’s attempting to hide, he’s not doing a very good job of it. Daisy throws open the door to greet them and immediately continues her gushing from the aborted Facetime Call, leaning around Aziraphale to get a better look at Crowley.

“You look so good. Seriously. Purple is definitely a good color on you. And oh my god your shoes!! Wait, lean down,” she says while pulling his elbow down to force the issue, “yeah, see, this makeup is perfection. How come I didn’t know you could do this? Aziraphale, did _you_ know he could do this?”

Aziraphale, who’s been leaning against the door jam since their arrival with a smirk on his face, seems caught off guard at all of sudden being included in the conversation, but asserts “of course I knew, dear, he’s been perfecting it since before I met him.”

Drawn by the sound of voices at the door, Alec comes over to see why their guests haven’t made it past the front step. He greets them both. When he notices Crowley’s outfit, he does a double take, opens his mouth to say something, and then clamps his mouth shut when he decides against it. Crowley blushes and Alec blushes in return. “Come in, it’s cold out. Daisy, help them with their bags.”

Ushering them all inside, Alec shows them to Ellie’s guest bedroom. “Drop everything here and take as much time as you need, but dinner is ready when you are.”

Crowley, still slightly overwhelmed by Daisy and still nervous about Alec and Ellie, tries to stall, but Aziraphale will have none of it. “Come on dear, you heard your brother, dinner is waiting for us.”

Ellie catches them both at the bottom of the stairs, “I’m so glad you could make it!”, she says while hugging first Aziraphale and then Crowley. “You look beautiful,” she whispers in Crowley’s ear, and then louder, “I tried that mousse recipe you sent, but I’m not sure how it turned out. Baking’s never been my strong point."

“I’m sure it’s amazing,” says Aziraphale.

“And if it’s not, well, you can’t be good at _everything_ ,” chimes in Crowley.

Ellie laughs and the three of them make their way towards the kitchen. Fred bombards them with the picture he’s been working on, “Look!” he shouts, waving the paper back and forth, making it virtually impossible for any of the adults to actually see what he’s drawn. “It’s you!” He climbs up on a chair to get closer to Crowley, squints, says “Wait!” and jumps back down and rushes out of the room. 

“Fred!” Ellie calls after he leaves in a whirlwind, “Get back in here. Dinner’s ready!”

“One sec!” Fred calls, and true to his word, he’s back in a flash. “Here,” he says, shoving the paper in Aziraphale’s hands. “I fixed it.” 

Crowley looks at the paper over Aziraphale’s shoulder to see a crudely drawn pair that can be none other than him and Aziraphale. “I see he captured your love of books,” he says pointing to the tanish-brown blob with blue eyes, holding what appears to be a very very tall stack of books. 

“And your hair” Aziraphale says chuckling, pointing at the incredible mass of red taking up half the other figure’s body. “And he added a skirt. Smart kid,” he adds smiling down at Fred who’s already been distracted by climbing into his chair. Aziraphale crouches down next to where he’s sitting. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, “I can’t wait to hang it up in my bookshop.”

Fred beams at the two of them, and Ellie drops a bowl of mushy peas on the table and proclaims that it’s time to eat. The children are quick to serve themselves and the conversation flows lightly and freely. 

There’s a lull in the conversation and Tom makes eye contact with Crowley and asks quietly, “So, are you a chick now?”. The question earns him a kick under the table from Daisy, a “Tom!” from Ellie, and a disapproving frown from Alec, who then asks “Are we going to have to talk about this?”

Tom turns bright red, “No! Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean it that way!”

“Honestly,” he adds looking at Crowley, and then one more time for good measure, “Sorry.”

Crowley, who about had a heart attack when the question was first asked, recovers quickly, “Not a problem Tom, but uh…,” he hesitates.

“What I think Crowley’s trying to say is there’s a better way to ask that,” supplies Aziraphale.

“Yes,” agrees Crowley quickly.

“And you should probably ask the person in private,” chides Daisy, “You don’t just ask in the middle of dinner.”

Tom, who is starring miserably down at his half-eaten dinner, nods in understanding. “I didn’t,” he starts.

It’s Crowley who cut him off this time, “It’s fine Tom. Stop beating yourself up. You meant it one way and we all jumped down your throat for it. We weren’t being fair either. It’s a legitimate question, and to answer it," he pauses to take stock of the room and what he wants to say,"To answer it - No. Although I’ve always had a, uh, fluid, relationship with gender and some days feel more feminine than others, I don’t really ever identify ‘as a chick’ as you said.” 

Tom winces. 

Aziraphale squeezes his hand under the table.

“I really identify as non-binary, but he/him pronouns are great,” he adds in a rush, and now he’s the one blushing into a plate of half-eaten potatoes. 

“Right,” says Tom, clearing his throat.

Alec opens his mouth, once, twice, three times, then shuts it, nodding his understanding instead of verbalizing it.

“Thank you for telling us,” says Ellie, and then the table lapses into an awkward quiet.

“Unca Crow like dinosaurs?” asks Fred, taking advantage of the sudden silence to express what’s been on his mind throughout the majority of the adult conversation.

“What?” asks Crowley, looking up at him.

“You like dinosaurs?” Fred repeats, looking at him expectantly.

“Yes, uh, I do. I like, the tall ones. The ones with the long necks?” 

“Bronosaurus,” says Fred nodding sagely like Crowley has imparted an important truth (he has, but not the one Fred cares about.) “I like T-Rex. They can eat people.”

“Did you know T-Rex had feathers?” inserts Daisy.

“Did not!” shouts Fred.

“He did,” insists Daisy, “I watched a documentary about it on Netflix. They think a lot of the dinosaurs had feathers.”

Fred looks like he’s about to argue more, but Alec steps in, “it’s true Fred. Great big downy feathers. Like a chicken.”

Fred looks to Ellie and Aziraphale for confirmation, who both nod in agreement. “Oh,” he says almost disappointed. Then, “Maybe they could fly!”

“No,” starts Daisy and Tom at the same time, but it’s too late. Fred is gushing to anyone listening (which is all of them let’s be honest) about his favorite dinosaur, the T-rex, which can not only EAT you, but also fly. 

By the time Ellie serves the mousse (which is delicious by the way), the easy atmosphere is back and neither Crowley nor Hardy has ever felt so at ease around family. There eyes catch over the table and Alec smiles, so _this_ is what it's like to be love and be loved, accept and be accepted. He makes a mental note to cherish this evening forever.


	3. Names are Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about Names. Brotherly bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the incredibly long wait between chapters. My muse just wasn't having it with this one. I hope you're all doing well amid the COVID-19 crisis. I'm hoping to use my New York STAY AT HOME YOU IDIOTS rules to get back on my writing game.

After dinner, Aziraphale excuses himself to the guest room for a few moments to unpack, Ellie gets Fred dressed for bed, and the teens disappear into Tom’s room, which leaves the twins alone in the kitchen, cleaning up from their meal.

The silence between them could be awkward but it isn’t, Alec methodically washing dishes and handing them off to Crowley to dry and put away. They fall into an easy pattern.

They're wrapping up the task and Crowley is distracted for a moment, looking at pictures on the fridge. Alec walks up next to him, pointing to one at random, “That’s Tom on his first day of school last year. Kid has grown like a weed since then.” He points to another, “Don’t ask me when she started putting up pictures of Daisy; I think this is from sometime over the summer. _I_ don’t even have this picture,” he shakes his head ruefully and smiles to himself.

“Is this wee Fred?” Crowley asks pointing to a baby picture. Alec nods. “Cute little bugger.”

“He’s got you wrapped around his finger,” says Crowley.

Alec blushes but doesn’t deny it. He turns back around to finish the drying Crowley abandoned. 

Unable to open a cabinet with his hands full, he turns to ask assistance, “Anthony, can you open this?”

Crowley freezes, just for a moment, but long enough for Alec to notice. He looks over his shoulder, and although Crowley isn’t entirely sure what his face is doing, it must be doing something remarkable because Alec freezes as well, “What, I, Oh. SHIT.” 

Crowley’s taken a moment to collect himself and has opened the cabinet, “Forget it.”

And Alec wants to, he really really does, but the part of him that wants to have a sturdy relationship with his brother built on communication is slowly beating out the part of him that wants to avoid all potentially embarrassing or hazardous conversation, “no.”

Crowley looks up in surprise, but Alec continues on before he can lose steam, “I get the name thing I do. And I didn’t mean to call you Anthony if it makes you uncomfortable, but I can’t promise it’s not going to happen again, so I don't want to just brush this off like it didn't happen. I didn’t even know it was instinctual until just now, but it is, instinctual that is, and it’s still how I think of you, I guess, when I’m not actively thinking about it. And I guess, what I’m wondering is, what I’m trying to ask is, is that a problem?”

Crowley blinks, trying to process what Alec has just said, trying to figure out exactly what the question is.

Alec clarifies, “Do you not want me to think of you as that? Ever?”

Crowley thinks about it for a moment, makes eye contact for a few long seconds before shrugging and picking up the tea towel he’d been using to dry dishes earlier just for something to do. He's not blowing the question off, but he's not entirely sure he knows what the answer is, so he's stalling. Alec tries not to stare too openly while giving his brother time to think about what he wants say.

“I don’t hate it the way you think I do," Crowley finally says.

Alec considers that. It wasn’t what he thought Crowley was going to open with. He sets a plate down to look at his twin directly, but he’s staring at his hands which are twisting the tea towel into knots and Alec is beginning to realize this is a nervous tick. Before he can say anything in response, Crowley continues, “I mean,” he blushes,“The company, yeah? I told you I named it that so you might see it someday?” 

He finally looks up, so Alec nods in confirmation, silently encouraging him to continue.

“Well, I guess, I dunno, if you’d asked me back then, the whole point was to have you say it. My name.” 

He’s looking at the floor again and Alec isn’t sure if he should close the distance between them or not, “Crowl-”

“But now? I don’t know. It’s just…,” he trails off lost for words. “I did the opposite of you," he finally settles on.

Alec blinks, confused by the non sequitur, rewinds the last few seconds and still isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, “What?”

Crowley makes eye contact now, more sure than before, “You told everyone you met to call you Hardy, except the people you were closest to. Like people had to earn your trust and the right to your name, yeah? And me... I did the opposite. With 'Anthony J' as the name of the business, Anthony is what new clients call me, reporters, politicians, curators, you name it. Anyone who has no idea who I am or what I’ve been through: I’m Anthony to them. And it means _nothing_ ; they don’t know me and it’s like it’s not really me they’re seeing when they say it, ya know? Just a bunch of syllables to get my attention or whatever.”

He takes a deep breath and keeps going, “But Aziraphale, my employees, the kids we tutor, Ellie, Daisy, _you_ , you respect me enough to use my chosen name. Because you understand. Because you know me.”

Alec steps forward to put a hand on Crowley’s elbow, “I do. And I’m sorry I called you An - That..”

“But that’s the thing,” Crowley continues, “When it’s you, it sounds right, familiar. Like you said, it’s instinctual. It’s like we’re kids again. And instead of ignoring everything that happened, you’re the closest to it.”

Crowley takes a step back, shrugs again, “That’s confusing, I know. I don’t actually know what I’m asking for.”

“That’s okay,” says Alec, nodding, “You can figure it out as we go.”

A genuine smile crosses Crowley’s face as he's reminded again how much his brother cares about this relationship and wants to make it work. “Yeah, as we go.”

"Thank you for sharing all that with me," Alec adds blushing again as he looks around the small kitchen for something to change the topic. Just because the conversation was essential, doesn't mean he's gotten any better at handling potential emotional minefields. "Let's go see what the rest of the crew is getting up to."

At that, Crowley turns to head out to the living room, but Alec catches his arm to add one more thing, "but let me know if you need to chat about any of this more."

Crowley makes to brush it off, but Alec won't let him, "Seriously."

Crowley swallows, "Yeah. Okay."

Alec releases his grip and the two make their way out together. 

Despite the short distance between the two spaces, entering the living room is like entering an entirely different reality. Their partners have made themselves cozy, chatting airily about some recent funny story at school. They look up simultaneously when they walk in, sensing the weight of Alec and Crowley's previous conversation. Ellie looks between the two, notices a sort of contentment there and lets her curiosity go unanswered. "We were wondering where you two got off to," she says. Alec visibly relaxes at not being questioned. 

Taking a queue from Ellie, Aziraphale jokes, "Another couple minutes and we were going to call in search and rescue."

Ellie holds up the bottle of wine her and Aziraphale had opened, "Care to join us?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is done... at least for now. I started it wanting to cover Crowley's gender identity and the thoughts around Anthony vs Crowley and Hardy vs Alec, and I accomplished that so I'm happy to end it here. There was another conversation I wanted to work in here about how Az and Crowley met, so I might come back at some point with a surprise chapter 4 (the rest of their weekend??) if I can't work it into a future story.
> 
> Yes, there will be future stories. At least two more. And hopefully I'll be more on top of them than I was this one. 
> 
> I love you all. Stay healthy (and stay home!) and if you're bored, come talk to me on tumblr (@whtbout2ndbrkfst) or twitter (@whtbout2ndbrkfs).


End file.
